


Sick of Losing Soulmates

by rustedservos



Category: The Transformers (IDW Generation One)
Genre: Abusive Ex, Doctor!Ratchet, Escort!Drift, Humanformers, M/M, Strangers to Friends to Lovers, hospital talk
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-02-12
Updated: 2017-02-16
Packaged: 2018-09-23 22:20:14
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 4
Words: 17,394
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9682436
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rustedservos/pseuds/rustedservos
Summary: Hank “ Ratchet” Theawitt was used to the chaos of his hospital. He was usually posted for the people who needed it the most, the ones who used violence to express themselves, the ones who needed a firmer hand when retrieving treatment. Still, he was used to being shuffled around where they needed him. He wanted to be useful, to save as many lives as he could. So when a white haired beauty with no name ends up on his hospital bed, and eventually off the street and into his apartment, he wonders how his life could have changed so drastically so fast. Whos pulling 'Drift's strings? What does Hank's abusive ex Orion have to do with it?





	1. Meetings

**Author's Note:**

> [Song recommendations: Dodie: Sick of Losing Soulmates]

Hank “ Ratchet” Theawitt was used to the chaos of his hospital. He was usually posted for the people who needed it the most, the ones who used violence to express themselves, the ones who needed a firmer hand when retrieving treatment. Still, he was used to being shuffled around where they needed him. He liked a challenge, and knowing where he was going in for the day was something that bored him. The chance to see something new, to test his skills, to pull extra shifts, was something he craved. He wanted to be useful, to save as many lives as he could.

He was 46, around 5’6”, weighed 220lbs with a wide barrel chest, powerful legs, and muscular arms. His hair almost always had a wild look to it, untamed and often pulled this way or that way depending on how long he had been awake. He had long given up on taming his beard; he trimmed it when he remembered. When he went home. His vivid blue eyes were hollow and haunted most of the time, reliving events in the past that he wished would stay in the past. He was scarred, from numerous patient battles as well as battles across the sea.

He was one of the best doctors on shift, and almost everyone knew it at the Iacon hospital. He was paid handsomely for his work; often pulling double or triple shifts before returning home to his vast betta collection. He bred the fish, as they were one of the only things he could keep alive with his odd working schedule. They didn’t mind his odd hours so long as he fed them and changed their water as regularly as he could. His apartment was not too far from his work, but he did own a 1995 Geo Metro for use when he needed to go somewhere not nearby. Which was rare in a city such as Iacon. His apartment was almost Spartan; furnished with obviously well-loved furniture: a older model TV, clean, blank walls, and a wooden bedroom set that was scuffed and tucked into the corners. Hank wouldn’t have his apartment any other way. He had no lover to go home to, and after the last one, he wasn’t sure he was ready to ever dive back into the dating world.

His ex, Orion Patterson, was head of the police department in the city and strived to ruin Hank’s reputation as much as possible. Orion had been a old friend of Hanks, someone who he had gone to college with, graduated with, and eventually started dating. They moved in with one another, shared everything, and had a rather intimate relationship. Hank could deal with the shouting matches, as few and far in between as they were, and the tossed and broken things were cleaned up quietly and replaced.

When Hank walked into the apartment to find Orion with his tongue down a woman’s throat was the last straw. He threw Orion out, despite the other continuing to belittle what the older man said, telling him that he had been with Ellie for the last three years. Hank closed the door in Orion’s face before sliding down the wood to collapse at the bottom, tears in his eyes as he opened the freshly purchased ring shining in its velvet box. After a few bottles, it was angrily tossed into a box and shoved into the second bedroom in the bottom of the tiny closet to get buried with blankets that Hank seemed to collect. He threw himself into his work, despite Orion’s nastily spat rumors about Hank being the one to cheat on him, how Hank had thrown him out without a word, how he had giant orgies in his offtime.

So, after being awake for 20 hours already and looking down at his newest patient, he only sighed and scrubbed the back of a hand into his burning eyes before looking the patient over. Male, Asian descent, white hair, scarred, tattooed, ODing on heroine, name of John Doe. Perfect. His heart throbbed once at the beautiful specimen on his table before he shoved those feelings back into his medical box and started to treat him. His nurse, Frank, watched with wide, curious eyes as Hank brought the patient back from the brink of death.  
When the patient stopped convulsing, Hank sighed, stripping his gloves, and tossing them haphazardly into the waste bin. He checked the others pulse, eyes narrowed as it was thin and fast, but there, and then gave him an IV. The man moaned at the needle, hand jerking towards it before Hank caught it, gently squeezing in warning. He caught a glimpse of slitted eyes watching him warily, so he gave another soft squeeze to the others hand, winking at him as he spoke.

“You are special, kid.” At his words, the other seemed to finally pass out, body going limp on the bed. Hank released the others hand, running a hand through his hair before turning for the door. He needed a cup of coffee after this. It had been a while since a beauty like that had ended up on his table and he had gotten a response from the normally stoic doctor. He started his rounds, aware that the ‘John Doe’ needed time to recover before he could grill him about the dangers of pumping himself full of one of the most dangerous cocktails created by man to get high. He hated the number of druggies he saw come in and out of the hospital, either of their own violation or on a morgue slab.

His rounds were quiet, checking in on the kid with pneumonia, the old woman who had the stroke, and the lady in the coma after the car accident. Hank was becoming less optimistic about the lady in the coma; she had no brain wave activity since the first night he had treated her, and that was a week ago.

When he entered the room with the druggie, he paused in the doorway, eyes narrowed on the clearly rumpled and now empty bed before he stalked over to the bathroom, throwing the door open. Empty. He made sure all the equipment was still there, glad there was no extra medications in the room before he left, making his way to security to file yet another complaint. Why was it always him that got the runaways?

He finally stumbled home at three in the morning, tossing the food into his tanks before stripping his scrubs and finally flopping into his unmade bed, groaning at the loss of weight on his feet. He was out like a light.

His days were the same routine; wake up, grab food (either at home, if he had recently shopped, or on the way to work, which was more often than he liked) go to work, get talked into a shift that sometimes-lasted days, stumble home, possibly shower, but often strip some form of clothing off him in some odd order, and collapse into bed. They days blurred together until that one fateful day he spotted the white-haired beauty on the streets. He paused, eyes narrowing on some imaginary point before him as he tried to think of why this one seemed so familiar, his coffee cup held up to his lips before his eyes widened. He turned towards the alley mouth that he had seen him in, about ready to walk over there and give the kid a piece of his mind, before he noticed that the other must have seen him and slunk away as he was busy placing the kid. He grumbled in annoyance before shrugging and walking back to work, unaware he was being watched the whole way there.

It was another week and a half before he spotted the white-haired man again, hunched against the wall and looking filthy. Hank shook his head, grumbling at himself as he picked up his pace. He wanted to confront this man, tell him off about the way he was treating himself. His face was stormy, eyes locked onto his target before a man stumbled out of the doorway he was passing, knocking into him and almost into oncoming traffic. Hank caught himself, face open in shock before he hurriedly glanced towards where he saw “John”. The white-haired man was gone. And so, he turned on the semi drunk man swaying before him, telling him off about the hazards of drinking and not looking where he was going when he was kicked out of the bar after closing time. The other man had the right mind to look almost sheepish the longer he stood on the curb. Yet again, Hank was watched as he walked the rest of the way home, still angrily muttering about drunks and how much he wanted to sleep.

It took a few more sightings of the white-haired man before Hank finally had a chance to talk to him, which he took strict advantage of the moment he was aware of it. The white-haired man was lingering in the mouth of an alleyway, not paying attention to the rabble until Hank broke into his line of sight. He visibly startled, pulling away from Hank and looking around to try to find a way around the wall of man before him. Hank only put his hands, showing him that they were empty and not prepared to hit him.

“Wait, wait, please don’t run. I just want to talk.” He said quietly, like he did to some of his flightiest patients. It seemed to work, the mans’ eyes, once wild, darted between the empty hands and the others face a few times before his tight posture relaxed minutely, leaning slightly forward but still wary.

“What do you want.” He said softly, in a voice that had Hank’s heart doing something funny in his chest. If he had been alone, he would have pounded on his chest to try to get it to calm down. This man was off limits, damnit. He just wanted to help him.

“I noticed that you don’t seem to have a place, and the nights are only getting colder. I have an apartment, not far from here. And you need to eat, I’m a doctor and I have noticed how you keep losing weight. And Primus, John, stop using drugs, for your health they are only drawing what little calories you have managed to collect and doing away with them. You are all skin and bones, and you stink.” He said, reaching into his pocket. The other man darted forward, catching his wrist, and twisting it, to which Hank winced but showed that he was only getting out a notebook and tiny pen.

“I just wanted to give you my address. So, you can have a safe place to stay if you need it.” He said, to which “John” let go of the others wrist, and Hank scribbled something onto the paper, ripped it out of his book, and gave it to the other man, catching his eye carefully with a sincere look of concern on it.

“Please come by if you need a safe space. I work odd hours at the hospital, I cannot guarantee that I will be there.” He said with a shrug as he pocketed the notebook and backed out of the alleyway, watching the other man before nodding at him. He turned and walked away, unaware that he had just given ‘Drift’, one of the most famous and sought after male escorts his address and made the other think he wanted a ‘job’.

When Hank arrived home that night, he caught sight of his favorite fish, Drift, stalking him from his tank. He sighed, walking over to the pale red and white fish before watching him, aware the others eyes were judging him.

“Primus, why did I do that.” He said, rubbing his face with both his hands as the realization that he gave a druggie his address and pretty much told him he was never home. Maybe he would come home and find the place looted.

“Don’t you look at me like that. He needs help. I offered it.” He said grumpily to Drift, who only flicked his tail at him and swam the length of his tank before staring at Hank again. It was almost as if he was telling him that this didn’t make up for all the wrong he had done, that offering help to this one man wouldn’t bring back his dead patients, or the keep them alive. He tapped the counter before growling at the smug looking fish.

“Yeah, yeah, you greedy bastard, I’m giving you food now.” He said, shaking out the portion of the food before moving along to the other tanks, feeding everyone before stumbling over to his bed, falling facedown onto it, and promptly falling asleep.

Through the haze of a exhausted slumber, Hank could hear the knocking at the door. He grumbled, rolling over and hoping it was part of his robot dream. The knocking happened again, slightly harder, to which he growled as he sat up on the bed, glaring at the door as if that would make the knocking go away. A third rapping made him stumble out of bed, almost zombie walking over to the door before he threw it open without checking it. Another bad habit he had.

Before him stood the white-haired beauty, as clean as he could get in relatively nice and only slightly wrinkled clothes. Ratchet blinked blearily at him before moving to the side, wordlessly motioning him in. He didn’t expect the other to come so fast, or so early. Late? What time even was it? Did it matter?

The other almost shyly entered the apartment, eyes locked onto Hanks bulky frame as he shut the door and bolted it behind the other. He rubbed at his face, yawning, and flashing a hint of fang before his mouth shut with a click of teeth on teeth.

“Welcome. That’s the kitchen, living room, laundry nook, guestroom, and my bedroom. Make yourself at home, I’m going back to sleep. Don’t wake me.” He grumbled as he stumbled back towards the door, leaving a rather bewildered Drift in the doorway. Drift had expected to tap that, or be tapped, and then go about his merry way. How idiotic was this man, leaving his apartment ‘open’ for this stranger to plunder as he slumbered?

Hank slumped back into his blanket nest, nuzzling into the soft one before passing back out, forgetting about the late-night visitor.

Said visitor was busy snooping around the apartment, slightly crestfallen that most of the items in here were not worth much. But he got all dolled up for apparently nothing, but he was still intent on getting something out of this experience. And, hey, warm place to crash tonight! Score!

Drift wandered from room to room, looking through paperwork, books, photos, anything he could get his hands on to learn about this strange man. He placed things neatly in piles, clearly not putting it away but also not trashing the place, before he noticed the futon, which was cleanly made up as a bed. Hey, it was better than sleeping in the street, so he curled up under the blanket, noticing the slightly musty, soothing smell in the blanket before he fell into a fitful sleep, body twitching at ever new noise, thinking he was still on the street despite being comfortable.

When Hank woke, he tugged at his hair before standing up and stripping, leaving his clothes in a pile and walking naked to the shower. A soft clearing of a throat made him pause, aware that the slightly blurry figure had cleared up into the figure of the white-haired beauty from last night’s dream. Oh. So it wasn’t a dream. He glanced down, aware that his, ah, morning wood, which had been flagging, was slowly perking back up under the attention of the other man, and he shrugged before placing a hand on his hip.

“This old man needs a shower before I deal with this. Coffee is brewing, hope you slept well, you look like you needed it. “He said before ducking into the shower room, aware his face was beet red and giving off enough heat to rival the sun. Damnit, he was a damn fool. He started the shower, first cold to get rid of his southern problem, then hot to clean the reek of the hospital from his body. He finished, wrapping a towel over his body before ducking into his bedroom, quickly changing into a fresh pair of scrubs, then gathering a t shirt, pair of boxers, and sweats and moving out of his room. He noticed that his stuff was rearranged but still mostly in the area, which he was glad about, before thrusting the clothes at the other.

“Go shower, you stink. And give me the clothes so that I can wash them.” He said with a wrinkled nose before the other man glanced down at his shirt, lifting it from his body before he let it fall back against his flesh, then glancing up from the shirt to the stocky man. This whole situation was confusing to him. First, he invited him in, then he went to sleep before they did anything, and now he was telling him to shower? I mean, he wasn’t complaining because he couldn’t remember the last time he had a shower, but still. When was the sex happening?

He stripped off his clothes, not caring if the other saw everything (after all, he had seen the other naked already, and he was interested to see what the other would think of his body). Hank wordlessly held out his hand, fingers twitching impatiently the longer he waited. He refused to look anywhere but at the others eyes, despite the trails of scars and tattoos that he wanted to trace. When the clothing was placed in his grip, he turned for the laundry nook as the other walked by him, making sure to brush up against him on purpose. Drift ducked into the bathroom, the sound of the shower starting masking Hanks’ semi strangled noise of protest at the others actions. Hank angrily stabbed the buttons on the washing machine as if it had personally offended him, grumbling to himself about uppity pretty boys and their lack of personal space.

Hank was helping him. He was giving him a place to stay. Why was he acting so oddly about this? Was he not used to kindness?

He rubbed his face, groaning into his hands loudly after starting the laundry, before he moved back towards the kitchen. He needed coffee and food before he started to foam at the mouth.  
He eventually heard the shower shut off, and not too much longer, the white-haired beauty walked out, almost glowing from the way his skin shone from the attention. Hank clenched his jaw to make sure that it didn’t drop to the floor. That little pulse of possessive pleasure at seeing him in his shirt, smelling like him, made him subtly shift as if to tell his southern parts to calm down. He just met this kid, got him off the street. Why did he have to look like a god wearing his clothes and sitting at his table, doe eyes watching him as if he was going to steal the clothes back. Wordlessly, he offered the other a mug of coffee and a plate of simple food, eggs, toast, and sausage.

“You are lucky I just shopped recently. Eat. Your clothes will be a half hour yet.” He said, drinking from his coffee before he joined the other at the table. Drift just watched him, wary. What was this guy doing? Feeding him? Before sex? That would just make him bloated and slow.

Hank, mouth drawn into a thin line, reached over to take a bite of each of the items, and take a healthy swig of the others coffee, eyes locked onto the others own. He didn’t poison the others food, damnit, he just wanted to make sure he had at least one hot meal. The clothes beeped distracting Hank from the sight of the white-haired beauty at his table. He needed to get the others clothes so he would cover up so Hank would not want to touch. He took them out, folding them neatly before pressing his face into the freshly cleaned clothes, eyes shut tight as he tried to get a hold of himself. He steeled himself, turning back towards his problem sitting at the table.

He handed the other his clothes, folded army style, waiting silently for him to take them from him. Drift looked from the clothes to the other, eyebrows furrowed in slight confusion and irritation, before he ignored the offered bundle and caught Hank’s eye. He finally takes the bundle, setting it beside his still full plate before he sits on his hands.

“Ok, so where do you want to do this?” Drift asked, to which Hank placed his mug carefully down on the table, eyes flicking up from it to land on the others face.

“Do what?” HE said, to which Drift’s eyes narrowed as he crossed his arms. He leaned back, blowing a few of his flyaways from his face.

“Sex. Is there a specific place you preferred? Like, I don’t know. Table, couch?” Hank flushed bright red, momentarily losing focus as he struggled to understand what the other was offering. Sex? Here? Now? For what? As he was stringing together his thoughts, his mouth opened and words spilled in a nervous rush from them.

" Wait, what? Is that why you came here? That was not why I gave you my information. I wanted you to have a safe place to get off the street when you needed it.” He said, trying to understand where he went wrong in that notion. He thought he was being precise in his wording and his emphasis on the safe part.

“What.” Drift murmured, eyebrows furrowing closer together as his forehead scrunched up. Hank struggled to restrain his hand, wanting to smooth out the wrinkles. Damn, he should not look as cute as he did in Hank’s kitchen, wearing Hank’s clothes and scent, and still be asking for sex.

“That’s not how this works. You came up to me, gave me your address. When are we having sex?” He asked, making it a point to not look at Hank before the last sentence, almost in a challenge. Hank sputtered, glad he didn’t take a drink of coffee at that moment, before his eyes drew together in confusion.

“I don’t want to have sex with you. You are damn gorgeous, yes, but you deserve to decide who you want to have sex with. If its money you need, here." He said, standing from his place at the table, collecting his dishes and moving towards the sink. He gathered up his wallet, taking three hundred dollar bills out and sliding them across the table towards the now very confused beauty sitting in front of a still full plate.

"Do you know how stupid you are, right this very second." A frustrated sigh from Drift. He gestured around the area before pointing back at Hank, who stood still and relaxed before the other.

"You let me in your goddamn house, say nothing, and just. Not want sex??? Give me money? That's not how this works??!??" He said, voice rising with each word, to which Hank just shrugged casually and pointed at Drift, then at the food, then around his apartment, almost the same way he had done just moments before.

"I might be stupid, but look at you. You are clean, you got to eat, and your clothes are washed. I am sorry for confusing you. Take what you want; all my stuff is replaceable. Now I’m leaving for work, stay or don’t." He turns for the door with the money still on the table. He glances at the still full plate before sighing and running a hand through his hair.

“There’s plenty of food, and you have to be starving. I need to see you put calories in your body. Eat.” He said, and Drift cleaned his plate, trying to understand what the man was trying to say. Hank moved towards the door, cursing at the time.

“Look, I’m going to be late to work. You can either leave or stay, I don’t care. I will be home late tonight. If you do leave, please lock up behind you. “He said, moving towards the door. HE left, hoping that Drift would stay, but also aware that there was a high possibility he would need to get a hotel tonight.


	2. Fin Friends

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hank goes home after a rather rough day at work, hoping Drift is still around, and that he will be able to sleep on a bed tonight. Fish shenanigans ensue, and hours later he finally gets to sleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [Song recommendations: Send me an Angel by Zeromancer]

It was a horrendous night. There was a ten-car pileup. Three of the patients died in the trauma unit, one kid lost his parents, and another was in a coma. Hank was sent home after the last one died, wearing bloody scrubs and a weary expression that kept the riffraff off him the whole way home. He was lost in his thoughts, trying to understand why the last one died. She had been doing fine, was on life support but the stitches were holding and her levels were in the clear. Then she suddenly seized, silently, alarms ringing everywhere as her heartrate went erratic. Her face was one of peace as the heart monitor screamed, signaling loss of heartrate. Hank tried to resuscitate her, but she never came back. He called time of death as his supervisor watched from the shadows, cornering him, and sending him home with full pay. 

He walked like a zombie, shuffling his feet the closer he got home. His apartment loomed, bringing him out of his painful spiral into dark filled thoughts. He paused outside the entrance, looking up at where his room was. There didn’t seem to be anything different about the outside of the building since he left. There were no lights on, no movement. Maybe…..maybe Drift wouldn’t be there. His thumb ran nervously over the key to his apartment as he realized he almost wished Drift would still be there. HE wanted to go home to someone alive tonight. He wanted someone who wasn’t going to die in his arms, whisper words that burned in his head for days to come.

He dragged his feet up the stairs, eyes locked onto each worn step before he hesitated again outside the door to his apartment. It was shut tight, and when he jiggled the handle, it was locked. HE crowded closer to the scuffed door, trying to hear if anyone was in there, but the neighbors were moving around, soft murmurs of conversation that could be from anyone. 

He put his key in the lock, then turned it slowly, as if that was going to make this situation any less stressful. When he opened the door, the soft sound of the TV filled the silence. He shut and locked the door, noticing that the furniture was still around. Well, that was a relief, something he didn’t think he was thinking of rolling off his shoulders. He caught sight of the stranger on his couch, shoulders slumping as he rubbed his hand over his face, taking a moment to collect himself.

“Thanks for not robbing me blind, I will be happy to sleep in a bed tonight.” He said, before stumbling over to the other man, a slightly lost, blank look in his eyes before he recognized that the other was still in his clothes, still clean and safe. He wasn’t bloody, wasn’t writhing in agony. He put his hand on the others shoulder, body sagging at the contact. After seeing all that death today, it was nice to come home to someone solid, someone who was alive and breathing and warm instead of the cold bed he often crawled into afterwards. He gently tugged the other into a hug, uncaring of the congealing blood on his scrubs smearing over them both. He stumbled away from him, running another hand through his hair as he started stripping in the hallway before hopping into the shower to try to get the scent of death off him. 

Drift was startled at the hug, eyes wide before he glanced down at the shorter man, relaxing into the touch. Was he rethinking what he said earlier today? Did he want sex now? But when he pulled away, he just watched him go, head tilting slightly in appreciation at seeing the other stripping down before him again. He followed behind him, stooping to pick up each discarded item before glancing down in disgust at his own body. He was dirty again, after everything he did earlier this morning to get clean. He heard the door to the bathroom shut, stripping himself down and moving towards the area he had seen Hank take the clothes before. 

He scrubbed at the new spots on his skin with the shirt with a soft pang of sadness; he liked the shirt. It smelled clean, an almost safe smell of antiseptic soaked so far into the fabric there was little hope of getting it out now. He put the clothes into the washer before squinting at all the buttons. Damn, he had no idea how to work something this fancy. He shut the door, poking at the buttons, and hissing at each disgruntled beep the machine made.

Meanwhile, Hank had finished his shower, slinking into his bedroom to get on a pair of boxers and baggy shirt, noticing that the trail of clothes had disappeared. He followed the sound of soft cursing and the lean, naked shape of Drift tucked into the laundry nook, snagging a blanket on the way past the couch. He leaned tiredly against the wall, exhausted burning eyes watching the muscles play in the man before him with each angry movement towards the machine. It took a few minutes of watching and listening to him to realize he wasn’t speaking English anymore. He opened his mouth, eyes trying to slip shut on him

"Hot water, tide, Heavy Load, 45 minutes." He called out softly, struggling to keep his eyes open. This was nice. Having someone around the house besides his bettas. He could get used to this. Maybe he should consider getting a roommate, even with his crazed work schedule.

There's silence, then the noise of a man hissing through his teeth. Ah yes, that information would be good, if it didn't take him half an hour to read a few of even the simplest of sentences. So, Drift is just standing there, naked, glaring at an inanimate object like it had just insulted his mother somehow.

Hank moves forward, holding the blanket out before him like he was trying to put a cape on royalty. He gently wrapped it around Drift, enjoying the others heat as he pushes the buttons and moves the dials, arms brushing lightly against the others before the washer finally beeps and starts it job.

Hank grumbles as he disentangles himself from his .... companion.....before he rubbed at his face and moved towards the door. He needed sleep before he collapsed on the floor. He was slow, struggling to keep moving towards his destination as he heard Drift shuffle behind him.

“I knew that.”said the blanket clad man before he scooped up another shirt that was laying near the couch, pulling it on and letting it fall almost to midthigh. He was slightly uncomfortable without the boxers, but those had also gotten dirty, so he threw them into the washer as well. IT wouldn’t be the first time he went around someones house in just a shirt, and probably not the last.

"Mmmhm. I know you did, babe." Hank said tiredly, too mentally drained to realize he called Drift " babe", before he stumbled to his room. He was too tired and too old to fight washing machines right now. He fell into bed, laying facedown, and rubbing his face into his pillow, ignoring the scratch of his beard on the otherwise soft fabric before his bones complained about the rough treatment from the day. 

Drift, meanwhile, has half a mind to kick the now beeping and sloshing machine that he was standing before again, but BABE catches him off guard and Drift whips around to the retreating Hank. Back facing him, skulking to what he can only now assume is their bedroom. For a doctor? This guy certainly had no qualms letting a stranger roam their house. And here Drift thought they'd be worried about him 'contaminating' the place or something. But he guessed he should at least be grateful for their charity ( or stupidity really, all things considered. ) 

But his attentions have been caught by the colored fish along the counters of the kitchen. Something he had missed to observe in his peruse around the older man’s apartment. Though now that he knew they were there, his regard of the situation shifted. Far more entertained by the aquatic vertebrae that look like they're trying to fight him through the glass, he drifted over to them, leaning in closer to peer into the tanks.

Oh, Drift the Betta had spotted a challenger for his no fin God's affections. This other tall one had been around him, taking time away from him and his brethren. So, he watched and waited, fluttering against the glass as if to tempt the other no fin over to him. Come closer, my pretty, let me show you how much I bite. 

The threat display was as scary as it was oddly charming, and from out of the many fish here, this white and red one had the most gall. Something Drift the human could certainly take appreciation in. He's tempted to stick a finger in the water, wiggle it around the little tank and see what the thing might do. 

Beguiling, but the young man didn't want to harm the small creatures in any way. Or worse yet, give himself a reason to return to the aid of doctors. His body was still reeling from his overdose. He leaned against the counter, his arm trembling at holding himself up, but he was determined to see what this beauty was going to do.

Oh, Drift was watching you, no fin. He wanted you gone, wanted Hank all to himself again. The no fin had cared for him, brought him females, changed his water, petted him. He loved him, and you would never get in between that. Let him get a taste of the challenger, scare him off from his no fin. He fluttered again at his tank, fluffing up his fins and expanding his gills, making himself look larger. 

For now, blue orbs cast their gaze away from the fighting fish. Searching the counter for anything that looked like food. Not for himself, of course, but for the white angel fluffing their fins in watery jail. Dmitri was still comfortably sore from the first breakfast he's had in years, stomach distended by the surprisingly delicious food. And while he's had his fill, the fish look as if they were lacking similar hospitality. So, when the escort finds a tube of flakes at the side of the rows of tanks, he pinches some to give to his new found friends.

What’s this! The challenger is cheating! Foodstuffs only came from no fin God! But...but...it looked so good. And he was so hungry. So, with a last flutter, he darted for the food, snapping it up and enjoying it. Thank you, no fin, you just might be on your way to gaining a friend. The rest of the fish agreed with Drift. Feed them and gain friends.

Already, he had a favorite. Between the attitude and racially familiar habitat, Dmitri was smitten. The white and red scaled beauty was the best, easily. From what he could make out on the little den, its name was — Drift, was it? How suiting. Watching the colorful Betta's dart between flakes was a recently established past time. Drift didn't mind partaking in the few hours he spent observing them, couched to the floor, chin resting on the arms he placed on the counter. Wispy strands of black hair falling in front his face. He should be able to see his reflection in the tanks, the lights inside turned off so that the fish would be able to sleep. There was a soft hum in the air as the filters did their work, cycling the water and cleaning it to the best of its ability. IT was more humid in this area, with the large number of freshwater tanks littering the countertop and across metal shelves with tarps underneath them to try to catch any wayward leakage. It was one of the pluses of breeding bettas; Hank didn’t need a humidifier to keep his apartment static free during the dry winters.

Drift, after finishing the food, noticed that the no fin was watching him, large, flat, ugly face almost smushed into his tank. He flared up, puffing up as large as he could go before remembering this was the one who had fed him. This was a new friend. So, he ‘kissed’ the glass before fluttering up to the top of the water, splashing it lightly and demanding pets. Pet him, peasant! He was king of this territory! 

The press to the glass was weird. As is the splashing at the water’s surface. Intrigued, Dmitri, convinced enough that fish don't have teeth, raises a tentative hand above the tank. Pointer finger outstretched to the feisty friend bellow, he dips the tip in about nails deeps. Watching with keen interest. The water was warm, warmer than the air outside of the tank, clear as the glass the fish was housed in. The plants swayed gently with the current of the filter, low enough in the water that the other shouldn’t be able to touch them without dipping more than a tip of a finger in. 

Ah, an intruder attached to the now friend! Drift swam up to it, bopping it with his mouth before he swam a tight circle, rubbing himself on his new no fin friend. You fed him, you pet him, now you were part of his school. All his. He alternated between rubbing and nibbling, making sure the other knew who was boss here. You may rule the dry, but he was king of the wet.

Flinching, and with a startled yell, Dmitri retreats. Pulling his hand from the waters and rubbing the water on the oversized shirt he wore, leaving a wet patch in the fabric. It tickled, and his finger prickled from the nip. And while the young man inspects the tip for any damage, he's embarrassed to find that nothing was there. Somewhere along the lines, Dmitri is stubborn enough to put his finger back in despite the earlier outburst. Rewarded for the new founded obsession by the consequential nibble and rub.

No! Come back, friend! He didn’t mean to hurt. Did that hurt? No fin god seemed to like the nips. He won’t do it again, promise! He fluttered, trying to attract the intruder again, which ended up working. He petted himself longer, before a softer nip was given, then back to petting. This one was his now. His and no fin God’s. 

Meanwhile, the yelp alerted Hank that something was amiss in the middle of one of the worst nightmares he had been having in a while. He jerked awake, stumbling over the blanket that had managed to get wrapped around his ankles, before half running out into the hallway. His eyes were wild as he spotted the beauty at his tanks. He skidded on the carpet, hissing at the sudden rugburn, before he took a few menacing steps towards the one near his babies.

“What in the Sam hill are you doing?! Is that Drift? Are you…..did you feed him? Are you petting him?” He slurred, rubbing an eye with his hand as he slumped against his ratty table, the wood groaning beneath his weight. He glanced down at the table, an eyebrow lifting as he could have sworn he just tightened the damn thing last week.

“Why…why are you still up? Actually, now that I think about it, what the hell should I call you? I’ve been referring to you as ‘John’ in my head considering you never gave your name at the hospital.” He said, shifting to sit in the chair as his legs trembled at the rather rude dart down the hall.

Startled, again, Dmitri removes himself from the tanks. Stumbling back until he's a fair amount away from the titular fish. Though this time the cause was the man running at full speed through the hall, as if the apartment was on fire. 

Standing at full height with arms outstretched, hands raised and palms open. Scared he might have done something wrong, he tries to seem as less of a threat. Ready to bolt at the smallest hint of aggression. An angry man, is a man that can cause immense damage. Though when nothing happens beside the creak to the chair as its sat upon, Dmitri relaxes. Confused, but relived. He shuffles around the counter, treading carefully as he approaches.

"Was I suppose to sleep?" He could have, yes. But still he wasn't comfortable when not a few meters away someone he didn't know slept. "and I usually don't give my name out to enforcement, doctors included. No matter if they are clients... er, non clients?"

Hank snorted at the other, grumbling and growling at himself as he realized he had charged in here for no reason. He heard the shout and assumed that someone had broken in here, but from the slightly flashing swimming of Drift, the smug bastard had claimed another victim.

“You pet Drift, didn’t you? Its strange, he doesn’t really like other people.” He said, rubbing his chin in thought as he stumbled over to the fish tank, trying to force his exhausted brain to make sense of things. He leaned on the counter, head resting against the cabinet as he tried to find a way to make his joints hurt less. Nothing was working and he was afraid he was going to have to pop a pill or two to go back to sleep. Damnit, tonight was not turning out how he wanted.

“Do you have a nickname, moniker, anything that I can call you by, or would you like me to stick with John? You really don’t look like a John, and it leaves a nasty taste in my mouth every time I use it.” He said before glancing at the other man, whose hands were still in the air. He doesn’t know why he had said ‘John’, he had been referring to the other man as Drift this whole time because of his flashy tattoos, odd way of preening himself, and pretty coloration. He would have facepalmed if the other man wasn’t before him currently. He really needed to socialize if he ‘named’ a man after his prized fish. There was just…. something not right about that.

“I would like you to sleep sometime, yes. You look worse than I do, and that’s saying something. If its because I am here, you can wait until I go to work again. But I know that futon hasn’t been used, and the couch would have a vague ‘you’ shaped indent if you used it for anything but sitting.” He said from experience on that last one. When Drift had gotten up, there was an indent in the couch from the others mans sweet ass ( Primus did he really just think that? What the hell was wrong with him tonight), but no indent from him laying down. And Hank knew he kept his place colder than most, and Drift was rather skinny. He should have used a blanket or two, but they were neatly folded where they were placed. Neatly folded from Hank’s own hands.

Drift’s gaze darts back to the fish swimming back and forth, smug like the guys he'd see showing off to all the girls. It brought a smile to his lips that was hard to push down. He does relinquish his flighty stance after a while, arms brought back down while hands twitch at his sides. Dammit, he wanted one of his own now, but he knew there would be no where to put it. Nowhere safe at least, or permanent. Dmitri moved every so often, packing up his belonging and shifting elsewhere. 

But a nickname? Nothing came to mind besides the titles and labels his clients would call out to him from the streets. Or whisper behind his ear in the dimly lit hotels above stain covered mattresses. Not exactly monikers he'd like to associate himself with. There’s a sparse thought that catches his attention, and he looks back to that white and red fish. "Drift, right? you can call me that."

It was a good name, a good attitude. Something he can hold and be proud of having, even if it was the name of someone pet. He liked it, and it was far better than something like 'John'.

"SEE me sleep?" Not the weirdest request, surprisingly. Though the offer to rest while the other was away hinted as lack of meaning behind those choice of words. "I'd prefer that, yeah."

Hank groaned as he rubbed his face, body slumping as another wave of exhaustion flowed over him again. He wanted to just take the body before him, tuck him into bed, and then sleep. But the others adoption of his favorite fish’s name wasn’t on purpose, was it? Or was Drift as good at seducing men as he thought? Did he know that Hank was lying earlier when he said John, and meant Drift?

“Ok then, Drift it is. I like it.” He said softly, a small smile twitching at his lips before he glanced back at his cooling bed, then back at the man before him.

“ I don’t mean that Im going to watch you sleep, because that’s damn creepy. I meant more along the lines of I want to see you sleeping. Like, a glance.” He rubbed at his face and hair, messing it up again as he growled at his lack of wording ability. He glanced at the microwave before groaning again. It was 2:30 in the morning, after all, maybe that was why he was so brain dead.

“Look, its late, my brain isn’t working, and you…..you have a wet spot on your shirt. Actually, that’s still one of mine. Whatever. “ He rubbed again before letting his hands fall limply against his legs. His digits twitched in protest of being tossed around, arthritis curling through them and bringing him soft waves of pain he had learned to ignore a long time ago. Just another drop in the bucket to him.

“Im Hank, but you might remember that from the paper I gave you.” He said before the soft beeping of the washing machine broke the silence, and Hank gladly walked over to the machine, taking the clothes out and switching them over. He patted the machine lovingly, glad it continued to work in mysterious ways to give him a way out of an awkward conversation.

“If you were waiting for the clothes, they have been switched over now. So, can you at least go lay down and read, or watch TV or something? You should sleep. Its good for you. Doctors orders.” He chuckled softly at the last part. Yes, because this was a normal doctor patient relationship.

"Good." Because Drift liked it too, enough that he might actually KEEP it. Or, well, use it again when the time arose. It was far more inconspicuous than Deadlock, which just screamed criminal.

And that's what he thought, or hoped to think when it came out of the others mouth. At least now he wasn't worrying about it. He'll still be cautious, wary for any tricks up the other mans sleeve, but so far nothing indicated foul play. 

Rather the opposite really, this Hank person was impossibly nice. Caring to an extent that Drift couldn't fathom over. Though the washing machine gave them both the reprieve they needed and with the other man was busy, the younger settled to wander over to the couch. Sitting atop its worn surface before rubbing at the see through stain on his shirt. It would dry and what he was wearing now is more comfortable than the dregs he had come here with. Smelled better too.

Curious, Drift lifts the fabric to his face, shoving his nose against it before inhaling. Missing at least half of what the other says as they come back with laundry in hand. "Huh?”

Hank sighed, rolling his eyes at the other who had a handful of shirt shoved almost up his nose, eyes slightly unfocused in his direction. He shook the laundry at the other before realizing it was his own clothes. He sighed, tucking them under his arm as he leaned heavily on the back of the couch besides the warm, soft weight of the other man. The poor couch groaned under the treatment, not used to multiple people sitting on it.

“Lay down if you want. There is no shortage of blankets and pillows around, help yourself. Even if you cant sleep, just…lay there. Its good to let the body rest, and after what you went through, you need more rest, good food, and a safe place to stay.” He reiterated, trying to make sure that Drift understood the emphasis behind the wording. He did remember that the kid was recovering from a pretty nasty overdose; it was another reason he wanted him around. He wanted to keep an eye on him, keep him away from the nasty shit that he had gotten into before.

“I’m going to go lay back down. Don’t torment my kids, they have a habit of worrying themselves to death if you are mean to them, and I just bred a few of the females.” He said before shaking his head, glancing down the dark hallway. If he squinted just right, he could see the vague shape of the woman he had lost tonight, something dripping off her as her form wavered, then beckoned him closer. Time to go face his demons.

“If you need me, you know where I’ll be.” He said before wandering back down the still darkened hallway. He ignored the phantom brush of the others arm against his own, ghostly fingers dragging over his arm as he walked boldly through his door, and then back to his bed. The door, which he had tapped with the back of his heel, slowly shut, cracked against the warmth of the kitchen area.

Drift's left alone again. For the fourth time in the two days he's spent in the other mans apartment. Why was he still here, what had him staying even after the hefty amount nestled nicely in the breast of his constricting singlet. Was it just the sheer ludicracy of Hanks actions and motivations? Because Drift couldn't seem to make out what they wanted or how not using the perfectly willing escort could benefit them in any way. Was this a test? Was it some elaborate fetish that somehow, he wasn't privy too. No one in their right mind to work further than the bare essentials, even if you were a Doctor and had an oath to uphold.

Drift had been through hundreds of them, did favors for their expertise. It's what he expects and is expected of. Being left to his own devices felt wrong and so after a few minutes, the younger man stands and follows the other. Intent to figure this all out, or to already get some answers. 

The door he pushed open without much care, unwavering at the chance of waking the possibly sleeping man. It would have made things easier, anyhow. So Drift steps in the bedroom, light feet help him make his was across to the bed.

Hank was in that almost asleep state, semi lucid dreams flashing in and out of his ‘vision.’ He heard the door open, turning towards it with the last of his energy as his eye cracked open, curiosity overtaking his deep need to sleep. Maybe, just maybe, he wasn’t mean to sleep tonight. Which would almost be a blessing if his body wasn’t screaming at him every time he moved.

“Mmmm?” He tried to ask Drift something sophisticated, but it just wasn’t going to happen. His eye slips shut as he sighed, body going limp against the bed. The blanket was loose against his frame, almost looking like a dead man except for the rather regular breaths. The demons were advancing fast, cackling at the others lack ability to do anything about them. He had exhausted himself to the point of no return. They had all night to torment him. No one was coming to save him, like every other night.

Stirring is heard, and he stops his advance just at the edge of the bed. Looking down, he'd met with a sprawled form of a dead man lying in dreamless sleep. They looked tired, too tired to do anything, or move besides the basics of functionality. Drift had come here hoping for answers, but all he's rewarded with were more questions and confusion. The big lug was out like a light, passed out beyond the possibility of waking. He'd feel bad trying to, felt bad now having been wanting to. 

He's here now though. What was he to do... maybe, maybe if he just…..

Tentatively, and with straining consciousness, Drift crawled up on the spongy surface of the mattress. It dips with his weight as he travels the short distance between space and the designated target still out like a light. Finally stilling when he burrows in the crooked indent of their body. Spooning himself between them and a pillow, he's surrounded by an antiseptic musk that has his him wiggling. Just like the shirt he currently wore, but almost overpowering now. Covering him in a thick blanket of ease. 

Maybe he could get used to this.

Hank felt something curl up alongside him. The heat and the softness of it drew his attention, reminding him of the good times, of soft smiles and gentle kisses, longing touches, and happy cuddles. So, intent on keeping the soft thing close, he rolls over, a wide, worn smile on his face as he gently pulls it closer, a leg thrown over the hip, tucking him further into the hollow of his body. His arm snaked across the others side, drawing the small soft thing mostly under him, somewhere he could protect it without crushing it. Yes, this was right. This felt good.

He nuzzled into it, a rumble coming from his barrel chest, almost a purr. His beard rubbed against the others skin, taking in the scent of home, with a whiff of something foreign, something tantalizing, something he never knew he craved. And with that, he was out like a light, mostly on top of his bedmate, aware of every move he made. The demons screamed in frustration as this being was moving Hank almost out of their reach. No! He was their prey! 

A muffled yelp was Drift's only protest. His limbs are caught, pulled, and tucked underneath the wide body that surrounds him. Easily molded by the sleeping man’s grasp, he is stuffed with meticulous care against their front. His stomach constricts and twists as he's pressed against the others chest, with ear to sternum. He can hear the soft thrum of their heart clearly now, but the strange rumbling warble is hard to ignore. 

Even unconscious the older man was gentle, nice even. It made him mad, frustrated in a way because he didn't know how to respond to it. Though his body gave no protest to the protected nest the other provided, his mind still swam with subsidiary panic. The beard rubbing against him brought upon a wave of goosebumps that pleasantly prickled across his skin, making the younger man wriggle in his confines. Absentmindedly pressing back into that rumbling heat.

This was... This was good. He liked this.

Hank’s smile softened in his sleep, happy that the soft, slightly cooler thing was pressing into him. This was the nicest dream yet. His body relaxed further, the heat from the others body helping with the aches and pains of overexerting himself. His hand tightened on the others side, clenching into the shirt and almost trying to tug him closer. HE was limp and willing, and Hank was so tired of sleeping alone.

“….stay?” he almost whispered, eyebrows furrowing as his body twitched, hand clenching tighter against the shirt. A soft whimper rumbled from his chest as he twitched around the body, curling tighter around him as he twitched again.  
At first, the voice of the other startles him. Thinking Hank had stirred awake and realized what he was doing, Drift looks up. 

Still asleep, the bulking form of the other man is observed, Drift figuring it was only a dream that caused the verbal outburst. He has no intention of answering, but the furrow of brows and whimper has him reconsidering. It was almost pitiful to watch. Drift hadn't thought it would be like this when he'd first stood at their doorstep, and he isn't sure what to think anymore. He had been scooped up by this kind stranger, feed and washed, clothes and career for, with nothing expected for repayment. 

He wanted to leave, to take this old fool for everything he had, but he couldn't. Every time that though crossed his mind he'd winch, his stomach fighting against him with it's unease. He had fallen so far from the man he'd once been. 

"Yeah. Yeah i'll stay..."

Hank’s body froze for a moment at the others words before he relaxed again, hand loosening in the others shirt. There was a soft sigh as a single tear fell down the others cheek to be lost in the beard. He pressed a soft, unfocused kiss to the others forehead before he gently nuzzled into the warm body and settled into deep sleep.

Well, that's certainly a reaction if he ever saw one. Dmitri might have spent more time analyzing the weeping man, had they not pressed one of the softest kisses on his forehead. It wasn't as if Dmitri has never been kissed, because he has, plenty of time. But those were different, and some were unpleasant. Heated moments of mouth versus mouth that always had him loosing and succumbing, even if teeth were involved. But this? This was something.

All at once the world stopped, and Dmitri inhales through his teeth. Hissing and tensing up. He can feel his face add a few shades darker and his heart pounding in his throat. He would have asked for another and another were the man holding him conscious at the moment. Though he isn't complaining, because he gets to press his face under that beard and squeeze his eyes shut. Inhaling again before rumbling his own pleased sound, joining the other in sleep.

If only his clients were like this


	3. Morning Battles

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hank awakens to Drift in his bed; hes gets up and gets ready for the day while Drift has a nightmare and they both work through the aftermath.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [Song Recommendations: Dark Star by James Young. Panic at the Disco: House of Memories.]
> 
> So I forgot to mention that this is actually an RP between me and my Drift, so chapters will be erratic as I am also in school and my Drift lives in a timezone completely on the other side of the world. Please excuse any errors; this is unbetaed.

Hank awoke first, a soft, slow awakening unlike every other one after a nightmare. He blinked, eyebrows furrowing as he felt something moving in his arms. He glanced down, startled to find Drift curled tightly in his arms and pressed to his chest, still wearing his clothes. Hank was still wearing clothes too, and they weren’t sticky, so clearly nothing sexual had happened last night. It was then that he realized he had a southern problem to take care of, something that was resting against Drift's toned abdomen. He slowly disentangled himself, careful not to wake his visitor, before heading to the bathroom. He groaned as he looked at himself in the mirror, hair sticking up like a birds nest, eyes tired from long nights lying awake, face gaunt from missing one too many meals. He was a mess, and he had yet to find any other way to live. What drew Drift to him? Was it the clear longing and loneliness that he tried so very hard to hide? He closed his eyes as he rubbed his face before moving to sit on the toilet, shoulders hunching as he tried to force himself to wake up.

It took a while to take care of, but he finally relieved himself, thinking of very dirty things regarding his once bedmate. What the hell was he supposed to do now? This was only something he did to keep Drift safe and off the street; he wasn’t supposed to fall for him! Primus, what a mess. He cracked the bathroom door open, shirt bunched in his hand, and sighed to see that Drift was still asleep. Good, he could sneak in, get a shirt, and leave again.

The world was lost on the sleeping form sprawled across the comfiest bed it had slept on in years. Drift was deep in sleep, an arm draped across his forehead while the other lay motionless on his star ridden belly. Having tossed and turned in the night, the oversized piece of linen he had borrowed from the other man had hiked up past his midriff. High enough that Drift could ball his fist in the fabric and shove his face into it. Each inhale brought a whiff of the others scent that the other man would occasion murmur too. Humming before falling silent again. 

He is entirely unaware of the body leaving his presence, but his temperature lowers considerable without the heat of another beside it. Goosebumps are quick to form, prickling bumps that littered the skin travel the length of his body, of arm to legs. There's a minute shiver, before Dmitri rolls over to his side, hoping to conserve what warmth he had by changing positions.

Hank, finally aware that he needed to get dressed, crept back into his room, watching the other man the whole time. He paused at each toss and turn of the other man, watching him like a hawk to try to make sure he didn’t wake him up. He finally snagged a clean pair of pants, shirt, and sweater, pulling the shirt on to combat the chill of his bedroom before he paused. The pants were thrown carelessly over a broad shoulder as he padded with silent feet over to the other man in his bed.   
His heart did funny things at the way the other was all scrunched up, obviously cold, so he took a blanket and gently laid it over the other, making sure to cover him up before placing a soft kiss on the others forehead before his eyes widened. Damn, this wasn’t helping. He turned quickly for the door, rubbing a hand over his now beet red face, the pants gently smacking into his back with each step.

'Why does he look so good in my bed. This is not what I am supposed to be doing with my life right now. Taking advantage of someone who needs help. Primus I need to get laid.' And with that, he left the room, putting his pants on as he walked down to the kitchen, intent on getting food started. Coffee first, of course.

With blanket draped over his considerably slimmer body, Drift can now uncurl and nuzzle into the fabric. His limbs tingle and further heat under the light of the sun seeping through the blinds, the thin sheet of material helping to conserve the warmth.

Eyes still shut, a smile can be visible on the younger man’s face. He's peaceful and at ease, but the dreamless sleep that had taken up most of the night twists and morphs into something vile. 

Vicious, it curls its claws around him, constructing movement while Drift can only wheeze in his panic. The smile he bared previously disappears as brows furrow and teeth bare in pain. Ghosts of hands pull at his limbs, dragging nails down his skin and ripping muscle and flesh alike. The stabbing spasms continue until his subconscious cannot take it anymore, and in an effort to preserve itself, Dmitri is thrust awake. Leaping from the bed as if the mattress had burned him, tumbling past the rim until his back is against the floor. 

He's gasping for air, tangled up in blankets. The unfamiliar semidarkness of another room reached its claws into his terrified hivemind, he pressed against the solid wall behind him to make sure no one would sneak up behind him and plant a dagger in his back or a fist on his skull.

Hank heard the others leap, eyes wide as he turned towards the bedroom. The Keurig would be fine on its own, the pan was hurriedly pushed away from the burner as he shut off the stove. He peeked down the hall, spotting hurried movement in the bedroom which caused his heartrate to pick up a notch. He moved quickly for the door, trying not to muffle his steps so the other could hear him coming. He reached it, warily pushing it open. It creaked ominously, to which he winced and berated himself for not WD-40ing it earlier.  
“Drift?” He called out softly, looking at the empty bed for the other man. He could hear the other’s rather breathing, and the doctor in him wanted to make sure he was all right. He looked like shit, curled as far into the corner as he could possibly go, eyes wild, chest struggling to get enough air. The snap of the others head, sightless eyes locking onto his frame and the soft growl from him, the tensing of muscles made him freeze in the doorway.

Vision hazy, Drift doesn't reply. He can't see, he doesn't know if he's safe or where he was. A minute ticks by, the younger man staying a still as possible, holding his breath until he's able to look around at his surrounding clearly. Only then does he release the breath he held in hopes to become inconspicuous. He remembers where he is, who he's with, and there's a shuddering sigh of relief that leaves him. Shakily sitting to untangle himself from the fabric clinging to his body. "I, yeah I'm fine."

Hank edged further into the area, hands out to show he was unarmed, body hunched in on itself to try to make himself look smaller. He hated this, hated seeing the other look so small and vulnerable despite the strength he knew was in that body. Or would be, if he treated it right. 

“Drift, can I come closer?” Hank asked, aware how out of it you could be after a particularly rough nightmare. He accredited the fact that he had no nightmares last night to the fact that he had slept with Drift, albeit unknown to him at the time. Another body in his bed tended to help keep the demons at bay, something he had forgotten, something he craved to have again.

He's sitting on the floor, layered in sweat. Wearing nothing but the older man’s shirt, Hank has the audacity to ask if it's okay for him to come closer. As if he had a choice in the matter. Despite his limbs still shaking in the aftershock, Drift's frustrated peaks. His anger gets the better of him and hands curling into fists at his sides. Balking up at the doctor.  
"You can do whatever you want, I’m not going to stop you." With nowhere to calm himself, the younger man vents his anguish at the closest thing that would listen. The source of his doubt, and has him walking on eggshells. 

"I don't understand you. Is this some kind of elaborate game? Something to get your rocks off too. Because I’ve honestly got better things to do, if all I’m doing here is acting as some sort of, of dummy run!"

Hank’s hands drop to his sides before he backs up to the doorway, sitting down cross-legged before the other. He crossed his arms over his chest, leaning against the doorframe, letting the other have space before he realized this was closing off the exit with his bulk. So, he shuffled up, groaning as some joints audibly creaked and something in his hip popped with a wince. He rubbed the offended joint before limping further into the hallway, but still close enough to be noticed, to be there for the other.

“Drift.” He said the others name in a soft, soothing tone that he used on some of his most tricky patients, wishing the other wasn’t so aggressive this morning. They had such a nice night; why was it everything Hank touched corrupted? Was it him? His face opened into a worn smile, hiding the soft pain in his heart at seeing the other like this with little chance of comforting him.

“I just want you to feel safe, dear.” He winced at the nickname, rubbing his face with a soft groan as he buried his face in his hands, sighing through almost closed fingers. How could he take that back? Where was the rewind button?

There it was again, that semblance of affection. Shaped in words only couples called each other. Dear, babe; they were synonyms that lovers whispered to one another in the dim alcoves of refuge. Drift was neither. Just another hooker walking the dangerous tightrope at the edges of Red Lights. He meant nothing, not to this man. Only a temporary object to relieve the sexual tension of others. 

Hank says they want him to feel safe, and they have. Achieved that mission of theirs, congratulations. But it's only short-term, a , diversion to stall the inevitable. Derail the future from its course, if only for a little while. 

But that was all that it was. Something Drift will look back on and remember .

"There is no safe, not for me." He's been running for years now, using wits and instinct alone to assure his survival. And he'll continue to do so, until he's ran himself off the road. That's his happy ending, one he's come to accept. 

He didn't need someone giving him false hope. Didn't need the soft eyes that promised something better. Didn't need the worn smiles that offered comforting words. He didn't need any of it. But oh god, he wanted it.

Hank let the other rant, humming softly to himself and only himself as he let the other say the poison filled words that stabbed right through to his heart. He wanted this man to have a safe space, wanted him to know what it was like to really live. But the most he could do was offer his home to him, let him stay, and then vanish into the night. His smile slips, showing the crooked, broken smile that was more at home on his face before he covered it up. He stayed where he was, a solid, hopefully soothing presence for the other to lean on when he wanted.

He forced himself to bite his tongue, to force back the words he wanted to say, to try to comfort the clearly breaking man before him. He really wasn’t good at this whole mental doctor thing. He knew bodies, not brains, and he didn’t want to worsen this situation. Drift’s mental state was fragile as it was, he didn’t want to shatter it.

He edged back into the doorway, hands held up before he walked over to the bed, sitting down on it, and watching the other still huddled into the corner with a sad smile, his humming dying off. It had to be him, corrupting people. He should have known better, after Orion, nothing was ever going to be the same.

“My offer still stands, no matter what you chose, Drift. My place is yours, if you need it. Want it. Whatever.” He rubbed his face again, messing up his hair with his fingers and forcing himself to let go so he didn’t tear out chunks before he sighed, flopping back onto the bed, shirt riding up and exposing his dark happy trail. He scrubbed at his eyes, trying to fight back the extra moisture pooling up. Why did he think he could do any good with this one? 

"You are special, kid. Don’t forget that." He murmured softly, eyes drifting half closed as his demons cackled around him.

Drift lets the other in without much of a fight. Watches him shuffle through the doorframe and sit on the bed. Listens to the words that continue to cause him grief and discomposure. His perfectly armored fortification was so easily breached, that there was no protocol to help cope with this sort of situation. 

So he wants to scream. Yell at the other, use them to burn out his bitterness. Wants to fight and trade blows. Anything to have the other man act like Drift has come to expect from others. This kindness is alien, not what he's used to. It's unnerving, to be spoken to with such softness. It's fake, tastes of plastic. 

But he's drained, tired and sore. Old wounds and long since ignored pains act up in the silence and stagnancy of movement. His body, during the time spent in relative ease, decided it was comfortable enough to give him the brunt of it. The semi-constant drill of adrenaline and drugs have worn off, leaving the young man in agony. His muscles twitch and strain, and it's takes all of his effort to lift his weight off the floor and flop beside the other man, words muffled as his face presses against the nice smelling fabric. 

"Why can't you just be like everyone else. Fuck me and get it over with."

Hank chuckled at the others words, the bed rocking with Drift’s flop as he lifted an arm and threw it over his eyes, deep body sigh rocking him against the soft bedding. He wanted to lay here forever, to forget the world existed outside his own little warm bubble.

“Because you are worth more than a one night stand, kid. I can feel it.” He said softly, words almost a whisper against chapped lips, all his strength drained the longer he sat on the bed. Did he have to go to work today? Couldn’t he call out? 

No. His patients needed him. Drift would be ok by himself today….wouldnt he?

He turned his head, peeking out from under his arm at the other, his smile returning as he saw the way the other was face down in the bed. He liked the sight of him there, wished he would stay there more often. Hope fluttered its weak little wings in his chest, and he rubbed at it, irritated. Go away, hope, you are a heavy burden to wear.

A second of silence preludes the full body laughter that stumbles out of the slimmer man’s mouth. It's unexpected and without warning, and his hands dig into the sheets under him. Fingers curling against the linen.

A long suffering sorrow can be hinted at under the surface. But mixed amongst the hysteria that had taken over him in that moment, it's barely a whisper. Lost in the sea of heaving breaths and gnashing teeth. Dmitri can't believe the other, even while is body protests to the sharp movement and use of muscles. Yet he just can't stop himself. It's so stupidly hilarious that he can do nothing but howl. The only capable response to something so impossible.

It only takes him a minute of his wheezing laughter before he can feel tears threatening to overflow at the edges of his eyes. Glad that he's face down against the mattress so they soak into the fabric. Stopping himself from turning his laughter into something kept for nights spent alone, Dmitri bites into the bedding. Forcing himself to silence.

"You're fucken funny."

Hank hummed lightly again before getting out of the bed, groaning as his joints again audibly popped and creaked at the force of movement. He took the blanket he had been laying on, gently throwing the now heated material over the other before placing a gentle hand on the others back. The touch was light and fleeting, as he felt the others flinch. He pulled his hand back as fast as the other moved, internally cursing his stupidity.

“I have to go to work. Will you be ok?” He asked, watching the limp body in his bed and wanting nothing more than to lay down with him and sleep the pain of this morning away.

“I left some easy to make foods on the counter. Please eat, drink, shower. If you don’t get high again, the withdrawal is going to suck. If you do need to throw up, please try to aim for the trashcan or the bathroom. I’ll be home as early as I can to check on you.” He said before turning for the door. He hated the sight of the other so low in the dumps.

He's been hearing joints pop a lot lately from the other. At least Drift had passed it off as a normal thing that happens when someone crosses a certain age. And he's no doctor, but if his own body sounded like that, he'd have been worried. Not that he was concerned for this man’s health, but he was curious. 

However he doesn't get much time to think over the subject before a hand is pressed against his back. The first official contact the other has given besides the flirting brushes past one another. He doesn't expect it, so it startles him enough that he flinches so hard he's pulling back. Lifting himself from his lax position to look up at the man with wide eyes. knuckles white with the pressure he forces himself to clench the sheet with.

"Peachy." It takes him a while to come back to himself, and the hand is already gone before he himself relaxes. He's been through worse, after all. The lapse in control was nothing he couldn't handle, nothing he couldn't pack up and shove back into the depths of his psyche. Never to be seen again.

"Yeah, don't worry. I know how to take care of himself." After all this, he certainly needed a hit to distract himself. Could already feel the start of withdrawal tugging at his nerves. With three whole hundreds, he could pay for his fix and spend the rest shopping. Add to his slowly growing pile of materialistic items.

Hank watched the other man flinch away, his smile dimming before dropping off his face altogether. He should have known that the other would react violently to touch without warning; he would be better about that next time.

If there was a next time. For all he knew, he could return home tonight to find his apartment stripped down to nothing more than the large furniture.   
His heart gave a little pang of pain as he turned to the door. He rubbed at it as his eyes shut, pausing before the obstacle between him and the outdoors. All he could think about was the clearly broken man sitting on his bed, probably watching him leave with wild, empty eyes as Hank’s words fell off of his shiny shields against others. His head slipped forward, thunking softly against the wood as he clutched the door handle tightly before turning it and almost wrenching it open. He walked out into the cooler air of the hallway before he shut the door tight, placing a hand on it and then turning to start the short walk to work.


	4. Sharp Words and Bloody Hands

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hank gets guilted into going to a bar for his birthday. Drift, who had left his apartment for a few days, shows up. Hank's abusive ex decides to start a little fun.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [Song Recommendations: Love Like You Cover by Ashe. Almost Lover by A Fine Frenzy]

Hank didn’t understand how he had gotten dragged out to the bar that night after his normal hours shift. All he wanted to do was go home and sleep, but yet everyone decided that celebrating his birthday was more important. It had been a few days since he last saw Drift, last really saw him. He had come home to find all traces of the other man gone, as well as one or two of his own shirts. It was a small price to pay for housing the man who was starting to take up increasingly more of his thoughts.

So, here he was, nursing a beer and hating this turn of events. He hated being forced to socialize; hated the fact that he didn’t know where Drift was. He took another long sip of beer as he sighed, hunching over on the barstool, unaware that he was being watched from a corner booth. The sound of people talking was grating on his ears, causing his headache to worsen as he growled at the wood of the bar. As if that had been the reason why he was stuck here, unable to leave, being the ‘life of the party.’

Hmph. Some birthday this was turning out to be.

Only a few days had past, and already things were beginning to shift into the normalcy that Drift was accustomed to. He would go out, stalk the streets like a tiger in the night. Search for potential consumers that brought in the money he desperately needed, and go home. Though home was little more than an abandoned apartment complex that had fallen into disrepair. The rats and pigeons that took refuge with him the only company he had. Gasket was on and off as of late. They would come by for a few days, and leave again for who knows how long. Leaving Drift in a constant state of restrained worry. Fearful that one day they won't come back to him.

Slowly, the memory of the kind man that frustrated him to no end, faded. The experience they gave him, of something better, was not lost however. He could still feel the warmth sometimes, curling around him like the tattered blanket he'd come to use. Swore he could smell the remnants of their cologne. He never expected to see them again, partying in one of the bars he frequented. Sitting in a corner like the weight of the world sat on their shoulders, surrounded by a mix of what Dmitri can only assume were co-workers, and cops. He kept the shirts he had stolen tucked into a plastic bag to try to preserve the scent, for when he was really needing strength. He would return them…eventually.

Ah, yes, the cops. Hank was still unsure why they were there, after what happened between him and their chief, but here they were, partying as if they were all still best of friends. He had spotted Prowl a little ways away, sitting with some handsome African American man with startling blue eyes and some sort of fancy pair of sunglasses. At night. Hank snorted as the song “ Sunglasses at Night” came on the battered jukebox in the corner as he took another long pull from his bottle, wishing it was empty already so he could just escape this.

He had spotted Orion in the corner, looming over his partner, and it was giving Hank rather painful flashbacks he wished would go away. He scratched at his hand continuously, a nervous tick he had developed during their disastrous dating career. Sometimes he would scratch until he bled, then switch to the other hand, as if in punishment of thinking he could have something happy.

He hadn’t noticed the white haired beauty walk into the bar, his attention turned inward as he tried to walk himself through a panic attack. This night was quickly degrading into a nightmare. Unfortunately, there was no waking up from this.

Drift honestly tried to ignore the other. Avoided eye contact, distracted himself by conversing with someone random amongst the crowd. Not one of the many law enforcers, of course. His body was still aching from his last run in with them, and Drift didn't want to give any reason for attention to be brought onto himself. So he drifted through the mass of people, dipping in and out of talking forms with grace. Avoiding the badges and blue jackets.

Though he can't help it. His gaze seemed to want to place itself in the direction of the lonesome man. Had they been anyone else, were he to not know them like he did, then they would have been the perfect sap to leech off of. But as it stood, he was left watching them nurse a drink. 

It wouldn't hurt though, would it? To walk over there. Pretend, just for a little while, that everything was normal. 

It seemed his subconscious decided for him, because Drift was already half way across the floor before be even realized he was making a b-line for the other man.

Hank was lost in his own thoughts, as hunched in on himself as possible. He only wished that the stool would open up and swallow him whole. This was the last time he listened to that new nurse.

Meanwhile, in the corner booth, bright eyes caught on the white haired man walking over to his favorite prey. He rumbled to himself, eyes narrowing as he stood up and started to amble over to Hank as if he wasn’t on the hunt for some misery. 

With all the elegance of a lady in waiting, Drift creeps up to the bar. Draping himself atop the seat closest to the brooding man. Head propped up in his palm, he leans over just enough to gain the notice of the other. Paying no attention to the whisks of hair falling over his face. 

His regard placed solely on the aged man in front, Drift offers a smile. Soft and well-practiced, but instead of it's usually forced affection, there's something real hidden underneath. "What's a handsome man like you doing all alone over here."

Hank jumped as he noticed the body heat suddenly beside him, his beer sloshing inside its bottle before he clutched his heart. The stool under him creaked in protest at the weight flailing around ontop of it.

“Primus, Drift, don’t do that!” He wheezed, trying to regain control over his slipping mental state.

His eyes were wide as he breathed out loudly, eyes almost slipping shut as he forced his racing heart to calm down. Just because this man at one point decided his home wasn’t enough for him again didn’t mean that he should act like a flushed schoolgirl now that he was in his personal space again. His smile returned, a soft, fluttering thing that threatened to flee the second he was startled again. His pained expression on his face should have been plain to the other as to why he was here. 

“Didn’t you know? Its someone’s birthday. “Hank said, brushing off the others comment as he did everything possible to not stare at Drift. Damn, he forgot how stunningly beautiful he was.

Meanwhile, the stalker of the white haired man paused, leaning against a pillar as he watched the two. His grin turned evil as he chuckled softly, rubbing a hand on his arm as he decided to wait this out, see how long the other would talk to his prey.

Drift regards the others surprise with silent interest. Drift didn't think he had been particularly stealthy as he made his way over. Made sure to announce his presence with a tap at the bar counter before he sat. After all, while he was a good interpreter of a person’s character, not everyone appreciated the company of a renter hanging off their arm for the night. Especially in such a crowed place. Drift has gotten enough physical incentives, in the form of swinging punches, that he's understandably wary.

But he pushes the thought away for later use, and studies the expression and unspoken language of their body instead. Clearly the other was uncomfortable, tense and on edge. The way their shoulders stiffened, the hunched posture, screamed get me out of here. And he could honestly understand the sentiment. 

A birthday? So that would explain the festivities. The party hats worn by a few of the on goers that Dmitri set his gaze on as he takes a sweep of the congregation. The monotonous nonsense of a song that blasted through his body was somewhat annoying. He was an actually more disappointed at the fact that he hadn't figured it out sooner.

"Who's birthday is it?”

Hank hummed as he hunched further into himself at the others soft question. He took a long pull of his beer, finishing it in one large gulp before he set the glass bottle down heavily, wiping the back of his mouth with a hand as a new beer replaced the old one. He groaned as he took it in softly trembling fingers, his arthritis acting up to the point he almost let the bottle slip through limp, nerveless fingers.

“Mine.” He rumbled as a voice he had hoped to never hear in close proximity again piped up over the loud commotion of the bar. His eyes widened as his grip turned white on the bottle.

“Bones, my love, how did I not notice you sitting here, all by your lonesome? It’s your party, you should be enjoying it! Come, tell me, who’s this pretty little thing you are talking to?” 

Hank turned towards the voice, eyes wild as his head spun. Damn, that one beer shouldn’t be affecting him this much….except he forgot to eat. Typical idiotic doctor, taking care of others and neglecting himself. His back was pressed into the edge of the wooden bartop as Orion all but stalked over to the now trembling man on the stool.

Orion Paxwell was a tall man, towering over Ratchet at 6’4”. He had a bulky body, muscle sheathed in a thin layer of fat, piercing grey eyes and bright blonde hair. Don’t let the hair fool you, he had smarts and the cruel knowledge of how to manipulate people to use them. He was currently wearing a button up, the top three buttons undone with his police jacket thrown overtop. His jeans were tight, accenting his goods and each and every curve of muscle. 

Beer. Dmitri hated the stuff. It doesn't come as a surprise, that when the lanky man realizes what it was the other had been drinking, his initial reaction is to turn his nose up in disgust. 

Turmoil used to drink the stuff. Would come back to their hide out piss drunk and proceed to lay his weight over the obviously weaker man. Breathe down his neck and chuckled when it gave him goosebumps. Dmitri swore he could still smell the heated intoxication of their breath every time he looks at the wheat based beverage.

Gasket was an avid fan of the bitter taste as well, but Dmitri was more lenient with his addiction than the brutes. Could never get used to it, his taste buds rejecting the stuff like it did avocado, but it was better than the mod boss. Wasn't as vicious in their drunken stupid as Turmoil. Dmitri refused to go back since that night in Nyon.

A stranger comes up to the two of them, and the younger man can't help but stiffen in his seat. Subtly shifting further away, just in case thing got nasty. And by the way Hank recoils, the look that carves its way onto his face that bleeds dread. Dmitri was ready for fists to start flying. And when he's pulled into the mix of a relationship he had no want to become privy to, his instincts kick in before he could berate himself. It would have been so much easier to slink off into the crowd.

"Can call me Drift, sir." Play it safe. Suck up to the "better than you" complex he can almost feel exuding from this other man.

Hank was hoping, praying, for a bailout from Drift, that the other would draw him away from Orion’s very presence, giving him the reprieve he clearly needed. But, when a pleading glance towards the others thin frame wasn’t even noticed, he took stock of the fact that Drift was drawing away from them.

‘Please don’t go’ his brain pleaded him to say, to draw the other into his lap, to shield himself behind one who he didn’t know. He was supposed to feel safe around the police, to want to tell them his secrets, to be at ease with the one before him. But all he got from the one before him was a deep seated fear the closer he got.

And Orion did get close, throwing an arm possessively over Hanks’ shoulder, almost glaring over Hank’s downturned head at Drift in challenge. Come touch what is mine, guttertrash. You can never have him.

Hank flinched at the arm, which only cause the other man to tighten his grip, draw him closer to the others warm chest as he chuckled. He could smell the scent of alcohol wafting from the soft cloth, his nose wrinkling as he tried in vain to get away from the others bruising grip.

“Well, aren’t you a sight for sore eyes. Come to keep my rugged Bones warm tonight?” He sneered, a jagged smile on his face as his eyes bore into Drift’s body, taking in all the pretty curves and flowing fabric. Hank shoved at Orion, which caused him to laugh, but the slightly fearful look on his face turned into a scowl as he crossed his arms and hunched his shoulders again against the onslaught of the other man. Primus strike him down, he would rather be at home. 

So, he took another long pull of his beer and decided to wait out Orion’s little ‘visit’. He only hoped that Orion wasn’t using himself as bait to arrest Drift.

That look of desperation on the other man’s face does not go unnoticed. Nor do the pleading eyes that shift to him with hope, fearful and ill at ease with how close that pig in uniform was getting. Sharp eyes watch it unfold. Follows the arm as it's draped over Hanks shoulder like he was comparable to him. Another escort to have on your arm, to own and use for the night. 

Somewhere down that line, while observing all this, the younger man’s anger had ignited. Seeing the other treated like that lit a fuse in the depths of his stomach. The burning fire swelling, rising until it sat in his chest. 

All too familiar was the situation Dmitri found himself in. A mirror image of his own struggles in the streets; warding off the guys who thought that they could count him among their possessions.

Slowing his pull back away from the two strangers, he chooses instead to lean himself against the bars counter. Midriff exposed, Dmitri lets himself lounge with provocation. Making it seem as if that was his target all along. Half lidded eyes watch the officer with new found precision, rising to the challenge in his own subtle way. "Of course, if he'll let me." 

Blue orbs cast their gaze on the mentioned man, ignoring the sneer that's aimed at him to offer an escape for the other. Come with me, you don't have to take their shit. Let's ditch this crummy party. We can go back to how things were.

Hank was watching Drift, refusing to even look at the man uncomfortably wrapped around him right now. He took another sip of his beer, hoping to make it disappear, but a shot of some of the stronger whiskey, Hank’s favorite, was ordered by the man looming over him. His heart sank as he knew Orion was only here to cause trouble. 

The amber liquid was tossed to him, swirling in its crystal glass. He took another longer pull of the drink, not really paying attention to the conversation before Drift moved. A tantalizing strip of dark flesh caught his attention, moving into his eyesight. His eyes widened as he looked up, Orion’s fingers digging into his shoulder painfully. He could feel the angry rumble in the police officer, and he finally glanced at him. Oh, shit. He recognized that look. Orion was only stirring things up to try to enact a reaction from himself.   
What the hell was Drift doing? This was a police officer, who could arrest him. He tried to give a subtle shake of his head, telling Drift with his eyes that he wanted to go with him, but the tight grip of the leech wrapped around him was telling him he was going to have to tell Drift to leave. He wanted to take Drift’s hand, to drag him away and out of there, but there was little he could do without giving away how much he cared for the other man to Orion, which was like adding gasoline to try to put out a coal fire.

‘ I’m so sorry Drift. I would go with you if I could. I’m doing this for your own good. ‘ he thought as he closed his eyes as he tried to fight the tears. Any type of weakness that Orion sensed, he would wheedle at until the wound bled and you told him everything.

“You know I don’t do that, Orion.” He said painfully soft, but he knew the larger man heard him as a full blown laugh rumbled out of that barrel chest he was pulled against.

“There’s the Bones I fell in love with. Won’t even take a pretty boy whore into his bed, wants there to be love first.” Orion said before pressing a sloppy kiss to Hank’s forehead, mostly teeth smashing into scalp. He jarred Hank so hard he accidentally bit his tongue, blood welling in his mouth and meshing horridly with the beer. Hank winced as he took another pull of beer, unable to meet Drift’s eyes as his heart sank. He was still trembling from Orion’s touch, and he craved to scoop Drift up and get the hell out of the bar. But there he was, drifting through the stars as he fell to Earth.

He only hoped Drift and his relationship, as shaky as it was, could be salvaged after this. After all, he loved him, if only in a dream. And here was the demon coming to deliver them back to the real world.

The words cut into Drift like daggers. Sharpened blades of vicious intent pierce his skin; pushes straight down to the bone until Drift can do nothing but stare wide eyed at the man he thought he could trust. The bile at the back of his throat tastes like cheap wine, something he doesn't care to spit out. And he's taken aback. Shocked, almost, at the venom that drips from their teeth. He had thought the older man better than that. Hoped that they were different than the thousands of men before him that whispered sanguine promises in the night. Believed that maybe he could find something in the aged form that laid beside him, some semblance of sincerity he could hold only, clutch at.

But he should have known. Shouldn't have opened himself up so easily. Offered what little help he could give to a man that would take and take and take. Take him for granted when the cards were down, his castle crumbling as it catches the brunt of the blow. So, it's only a short stumble that Drift finds himself in, quick to pick up the pieces and start his repairs. Build his walls thicker this time, so no one can breach it. 

You know I don’t do that. Don't do what, Hank. Bring the pretty boy whore into his bed. Give him food and a prospect of a better life. Because you've done that, and now you've taken it away when I thought it was safe. Brows are slow to furrow, but they do. A deep seeded frown that etches itself onto pretty features. Showing his pain and betrayal behind sharpened spears. This was what he was, and he was a fool to think otherwise.

Nothing is said as he slips off the stool and takes his leave. No longing look of goodbye or head over the shoulder. No emotion behind the retreating form of the white-haired man. He might as well have been a ghost, with they way he blends into the crowd.

Hank ‘s shoulders fell, pulled into the others grasp as Orion watched the unwanted one walk off with a sneer.

“Aww, Bones, you hurt his feelings.” He scoffed before shrugging, sitting down heavily on a barstool and rearranging the arm around Hank’s shoulders. Hank finished his beer before reaching for the whiskey, hoping it was poisoned as he swirled its amber depths. He felt as if he had torn out his heart and fed it to Orion yet again, giving the man power over his frail social life. He took a long pull from the whiskey, enjoying the way it burned down his throat as his eyes teared up. Good. He could blame it from the strength of the whiskey. 

He wanted nothing more than to follow Drift, to shake Orion off, grow a pair, and take Drift back to his apartment, lather him in worship, show him how much he didn’t mean those sharp words. But Orion was a black hole, sucking all his strength into it. 

“I don’t understand how you could let a piece of tail that pretty get away from you. And he was practically serving himself up on a silver platter!” Orion rumbled as he took a sip from his own whiskey, his eyes drifting and filling with lust.

“Hell, if you don’t want it, then maybe I should….” He said, and there was the sharp crack of breaking glass that shattered the calm noise of the bar. Orion glanced sharply over to Hank, unsure what he saw on the other man’s face before Hank got his emotions under control, putting up his ‘Doctor face’, as his new nurse called it. Hank’s hands were shaking, blood, glass and whiskey dripping from them before he abruptly stood up. Orion’s arm was roughly shaken off to his amusement as he chuckled.

“Seems I struck a nerve, Bones. What, did you think you loved that piece of tail? He wanted nothing more than to slip into your bed, keep you warm, and then wander out to the next highest bidder. Don’t kid yourself; you can’t save him. You can’t even save yourself.” He rumbled just loud enough for only Hank to hear, eyes locked onto the bar as he toyed with his glass. Conversations started up again as the other bar patrons continued to glance towards the couple, sensing the dark cloud hovering over them. 

There was a drunken storm brewing around Hank, the whiskey dulling the room and his own personal grief. He pulled out a twenty, slamming it down on the counter and ignoring the grind of glass in his cuts, the burn of the whiskey distracting him from the pain in his chest. His teeth were grinding in his mouth, the sweet tang of copper from where he nicked his tongue at the earlier kiss distracting him from the equally bloody words he wanted to throw at his ex. He was trembling still, fear and anger a nasty cocktail before he stormed for the door. He ignored the calls of ‘ Happy Birthday!’ from behind him, eyes narrowed down to the sidewalk as he struggled to walk straight. 

He finally stumbled into his apartment, slamming the door shut so hard that the whole room rattled before he stumbled into the bathroom. He tripped over the shower curtain, falling into the tub as the tears increased, dripping into the mess on his chest. He curled tightly around himself, trying to make himself as small as possible. He screamed and cried and clawed at whatever was closer, smearing blood over the tub and himself before he finally fell into a drunken slumber, tormented by Orion at every corner.


End file.
